Lost Property
by uncer giedd geador
Summary: An alternative ending for the much loved story. Thorin underestimated a certain member of his company just a little too much...
1. Lost Property

**How it might have otherwise ended…**

Lost property

Thorin awakes with a shiver. It takes a few moments for his brain to warm up enough to work out why. His thick, fur-lined cloak has fallen off in the night. Yet, groping around beside him, he can find it nowhere. Sitting up with mutter he scans the campsite, just lit by the first gold rays of the dawn, to see if some sleepwalking dwarf has borrowed it for the night. But it is not there. And, chillingly, no one appears to be on watch.

Struck by a sudden pang of anxiety, the king scrabbles frantically in his pack and remaining pockets for his most treasured possessions, only to find the search fruitless. Four days out of Hobbiton, and he has lost his grandfather's map and key. The ensuing roar of pain and wrath wakes the rest of the camp instantly.

Within seconds the peaceful scene is in turmoil.

"My axe! Someone's taken my axe!"

"My knives are gone!"

"My boots!"

Gloín is shaking the company's coffer frantically. It makes a reassuring rattling sound, but upon opening proves to be full of nothing more than pebbles and old pennies.

Still cursing the loss of their prized weapons, dwarves across the camp are opening their packs, scattering the contents across their bedrolls and the dewy grass.

"Someone's taken all my pipeweed!"

"And mine!"

"It was the finest, cost me hours in the forge…"

"My tankard! It was my grandfather's!"

"My carvings are gone!" Bofur has dug to the very bottom of his bag, to no avail.

On the far side of the camp, Ori is nearly in tears over his missing quills and paper, not to mention drawings and writings product of several weeks of travel. Nori tries to comfort him, privately mourning the collection of silverware he had 'acquired' and carefully stowed away for later use.

"Thorin!" Kíli runs up breathless, hair tangled and cascading over his face without the silver clasps that normally hold his braids back. "The ponies are gone! All of them!"

"And all our food supplies with them." Balin adds gravely.

Thorin reaches for the haft of his weapon to calm himself, only to recall that it is no longer there. A few of the dwarves with heavier weapons seem to have retained theirs, but clearly, Thorin thinks bitterly, his was too finely crafted to pass over. Looking round at the devastation of his quest he notices one more absence, and bruises the ground with his fist.

Gandalf stands quiet in the centre of the clearing, surveying the chaos calmly, with what one might almost mistake for a smile of quiet amusement. His head looks somewhat bare without his customary hat.

"If I say he is a Burglar, a Burglar he is, Thorin Oakenshield."


	2. Reclamation

**Far more people read, favourited and reviewed than I expected, so I thought I'd write a second bit. So thanks to Louisiana Stephenic, tweetzone86, FanFiction Queen, Ballykissangel, Rosa Cotton, and Guest. One of you must have sparked something off somehow! **

Reclamation

Master Bilbo Baggins – in the eyes of all one of the most respectable hobbits in the Shire – is feeling particularly pleased with himself. After all, here is his gate, his little path, the beds still neat and trimmed, his lovely round door. He'll have it repainted just as soon as he can, yes he will. Then the hall, neat and orderly, just as he had left it. All safe and sound.

Bilbo Baggins, master burglar, whistles as he places his new set of silverware delicately on a shelf on the dresser. A fine new collection of various pouches and packets of pipeweed is stowed away safely. A fair sum of money, along with a few oddments, trinkets and scraps of gold and silver-work, is carefully deposited in a strong box. The sack of provisions he's kept is used to replenish his larder, woefully depleted by the dwarves' carousing. But by this point they've paid him back thrice over, and more. Even the left-over washing-up barely leaves a dent in his good humour.

He thinks back over it all as he sits in his armchair once more, drawn up close to the fire, and waits for his polished kettle to boil. How easy it had been! A few well-chosen leaves dropped in the stew, and suddenly, lo and behold, he was the only one on watch. The only one left awake, in fact. After that he could just pick and choose. A money-pouch here, a knife there. And then he realised that, with the ponies, he could take anything he wanted. He hadn't gone hungry on his trip back, not at all.

He'd got good prices in Bree. Very good prices. Dwarven craftsmanship went down well in a town mainly composed of men. He'd sold all the ponies but two, and then – the part of his plan he was proudest of, the very masterstroke – he'd paid a lad to take one of them and lay a false trail heading East, as though he, Bilbo Baggins, fancied trying his new found luck out on the greatest treasure hoard of all time – that sat under Smaug. Bilbo sips his tea with a smile. No doubt at this very moment, Thorin and co. are trudging through the mud and mire, cursing the very name of the burglar who stole the chance of a fortune out from under their very noses…

In his hand, the mug shatters.

Bilbo turns, slowly. The dwarf in front of him gives a deep bow, the freshly-nocked arrow still remaining pointed unerringly at his throat.

There is a blank space in his head. This was not supposed to happen. Bilbo scrambles for a new, better thought, something to say-

"Fíli?"

"At your service." The calm, even voice comes from behind him, and Bilbo feels the cold threat of a blade at his throat. He'd known the young dwarf had had another knife concealed somewhere when he'd searched for the complete set.

"Ah-"

"I'm Kíli." The remaining dwarf prompts. "The other one."

Bilbo wishes fervently that he had bothered to steal the bow. It had not seemed like a great investment at the time, but with hindsight...

"You find us a slightly smaller party this time. Uncle's in Bree looking for his… lost property."

"I see."

"As are most of the others."

"However, some of us had a feeling you might creep back here… So Thorin sent us along, just in case you popped by."

"I suppose he wants, well-"

Fíli steps in again. "What he wants is your head."

"But he would prefer it to be still attached to your body." This comment does not cheer Bilbo much. "I think so he can detach it himself." Kíli adds, in case the hobbit has not got the point yet.

"And you - you want…?"

"Our inheritance back."

"Of course." Bilbo fumbles hurriedly in a waistcoat pocket to extract a finely-crafted key. "The map-"

"-Is on the wall in your study. We saw."

"Ahem. Yes."

"No need to get up. Ori's fetching it."

"I was going to frame it." Bilbo says, in the vague hope that this might mitigate things a little. The look he receives in return assures him that it does not in the slightest. Hand trembling slightly, he proffers the ancient key instead, holding it out in front of him like a peace offering. He watches as the younger brother hesitates for a moment before deferring to the elder, feels the blade leave his neck, and - the very instant Fíli places himself between Bilbo and his brother's arrow - head-butts the dwarf in the stomach and runs, ducking under a flailing arm, out into the corridor, towards the back door, the pony, freedom-

_Thunk. _

The key clatters on the stone tiles of the hall. Fíli watches it pensively, massaging his abdomen and surveying the crumpled form of the unconscious runaway, burglar, and all-round thief.

"Nice shot, Ori."

**Maybe a third too? Who knows? Anything could happen in this alternate universe. Just tells us what youse thinks. **


	3. Reckoning

**And thanks to my reviewers again - Ballykissangel, Borys68, tweetzone86, Louisiana Stephenic, query4, The Nork, .Twins12 and Thaliran. You're really making this 'one-shot' stretch. **

**Oh, also, I forgot to point out at the beginning that Bilbo is of course deliberately OOC, though if you hadn't spotted that by now then you've presumably wandered into this fandom by mistake. I just had an amusing image of him as a real criminal, which this stemmed from.**

**Nearly labelled him as OCD then. That would be another very different story… **

Reckoning

The three young dwarves had been sickeningly thorough about it all. Bilbo certainly could not complain that they were in any way failing in the task they had been set.

As soon as they were out of sight of Hobbiton and the sun had risen, Bilbo had been treated to a demonstration of just _how _fast, accurate and, well, let's face it, _deadly, _Fíli, Kíli and Ori were when it came to projectile weapons. They leave behind them an array of Bilbo's best chinaware, now smashed to smithereens, and move swiftly on, taking a brace of freshly-shot coneys with them. Bilbo gives them points for style, but personally he considers the lump on his brow to be enough of a reminder about what would happen should he choose to make a run for it again.

His plan had been to wait until they got within earshot of a dwelling or a farmer working his fields and then call for help. It could not, of course, be guaranteed that the peace-loving hobbits would actually take any useful action, but he assumes that they would at least take his side against the three well-armed dwarves who are dragging him away.

Ori thwarts this one by suggesting that they take the quiet route.

The back-up plan is, despite the slowly-receding lump, to run away in the middle of the night. Only once a few days have passed, of course, and the dwarves are no longer on their guard. Then he can just sneak off on his quiet hobbit feet, and…

Bilbo learns two things from this. Firstly, that just because a dwarf appears to be asleep, it does not mean that he is actually asleep, and secondly, that Kíli has longer legs than him.

With time running out, the back-up back-up plan is, simply, a mixture of begging, bribery and outright flattery.

"No."

"He's going to kill me!"

"That's none of my concern."

"Yes it is! You can't take me back there! You've got to-"

"No." Fíli repeats calmly.

"But-"

"No."

"I can pay-"

"No."

From this, Bilbo learns that stubbornness is hereditary.

And then, just to show that they're doing the job properly, they have the cheek to _bind his wrists _before they rejoin the others.

Thorin's gaze broods darker ere last he looked, the brow more furrowed, the visage more hawk-like, keen and embittered. Bilbo swallows, thinks lovingly of his head and how attached he is to it, and turns his gaze expectantly towards Fíli. He knows his captor has been mentally rehearsing his speech for this very moment for over a week; yet the map, the key and Bilbo's fate are handed over wordlessly.

"Got 'em," says Kíli, succinctly.

Thorin nods, and in that nod is a great deal more than just approval.

The head turns and Bilbo ducks his own, hoping he'll get to raise it again. The key – yes, that had been a step too far. He shouldn't have taken it. The money and the food and the weapons –they could have replaced, but those heirlooms… No, they were a very bad idea. A very, very bad idea. The worst career move of his life, in fact. Right now a confrontation with an enraged and newly-woken dragon is beginning to look appealing…

"We've added a few clauses to the contract."

Bilbo blinks in surprise as Balin lays a ream of paper before him. "Eh?"

"If one of you lads would be so kind as to loosen these knots…"

Bilbo looks down in puzzlement at the quill that has been thrust into his hand.

"Should we get him to sign in blood?"

"Bofur," comes Dwalin's warning growl.

Bilbo skims over the document. It has numerous additions that had not been present before. Two - 'the afore-signed must remain within sight of at least two company members at all times' and 'any further attempts to steal, burgle, thieve, rob, purloin, pinch, pilfer, or otherwise deprive others of their possessions without the express permission of the leader of the company will result in immediate execution' - he deems to warrant his particular attention.

"Ah-"

"You might want to check the final clause."

'Earlier transgressions will be pardoned only upon the receipt of this document, signed in duplicate and dated, by the relevant authorities.'

"That would be me," Balin adds helpfully. Bilbo continues to peer at the document, looking for more hidden clauses, any new terms related to pay (or, indeed, any terms related to pay at all – they now appear to be sadly lacking), and, in particular, any possible loophole. The dwarves cluster closer, weapons bristling, and Oín coughs, pointedly.

"Alright, alright." He signs hurriedly.

"Welcome to the Company."

"For a second time."

"I thought…" Bilbo tries not to look at Thorin, who still has not spoken. "I mean… I was under the impression that you wanted-" Bilbo cannot quite manage to get the words out, fear overriding them, but the dwarves obligingly offer him some ways of ending his sentence, most of them shockingly terminal.

Thorin rises to his feet. "I would be a fool to toss aside such an opportunity. The wizard was correct when he recommended you as a burglar of some quality. And I was wrong when I thought you a mere weak-willed, homesick halfling. I doubted you, Bilbo Baggins."

Bilbo finally finds the courage to look him in the eyes, rather than merely watch his sword hand. "Ah, thank-"

"- And I shall continue to doubt and mistrust you for as long as it takes us to regain Erebor, and long after, so long as we both see the sky. Is that understood?"

"Yes."

At long last the sword is sheaved. "Then we have a contract, Master Burglar."

**Promptings* are welcome, as I'm not certain how (or even if) to go onwards from here. Basically, if you have an idea, let me know – it might mean an extra chapter (and that's not meant to be a threat, that's a genuine "unk, I don't know what to write now"). If you don't have an idea, then… tell me anyway. I would appreciate feedback on Thorin-in-characterness (or lack thereof), and (as always) whether or not you found it funny, including **_**which bits **_**(because then I can put more funny bits in next time). **

***As in, those little bits that aren't quite prompts yet, but may grow to be. Fully grown and nurtured prompts are, of course, also welcome. **


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